The Dark and the Dawn (Kansas Crossroads Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Mrs. Hadley chuckled. “You do sometimes overstep your bounds, Doctor, but I can’t imagine you being inappropriate. Perhaps she just doesn’t feel comfortable enough to share at this point. Some people do take longer to open up.”

  Phillip nodded. He could see that being the case. “Thank you, Mrs. Hadley. I’ll keep trying, and hopefully, she’ll begin to feel more relaxed. I do know this must be a difficult time for her—a new town and job, and now, embarking on a new career with virtual strangers.”

  “She’s a brave one.” Mrs. Hadley clicked her tongue. “I can’t imagine doing half of what she’s done when I was her age. I didn’t have near the spunk. Well, I’m off to do your laundry. That shirt may not be cleanable, Doctor.”

  “I have others,” Phillip said absently, his mind already absorbed in the mystery of Miss Peterson. With any luck, they’d have a quiet day, and he could spend some time chipping away at her guarded exterior. She could do an excellent job as a nurse without ever letting down her emotional walls, but he so, so badly wanted to see what was behind them.

  ***

  Jeanette had been plagued by nightmares all night long. They swirled around in her mind like a kaleidoscope. One moment, she saw Dora’s pale face, her eyelids fluttering. Then she felt a rough hand on her wrist and looked into the eyes of the man from the dining room, who morphed into the face from so long ago. Then she saw little Alice’s tiny fingers and had a moment of peace in the midst of the terror. She jerked awake before dawn with a harsh voice echoing through her memory—“Someday, Missy. Someday.”

  She lay there, heart pounding, trying to push down the emotions that had risen in her chest and threatened to suffocate her. It was just a dream—it was just a memory. She was safe now. But no matter how she tried to reason with herself, she couldn’t go back to sleep.

  Deciding she might as well get up, Jeanette dressed and tied back her hair, then crept down the stairs with her shoes in her hand, hoping she wouldn’t wake anyone up. After fastening her shoes, she went into the kitchen and stoked up the fire, setting the irons to heat. The freshly laundered napkins and tablecloths were stacked in the corner of the room, waiting for her. Ironing was just what she needed—a mundane task that would lull her brain and soothe her ruffled nerves.

  She had ironed all the napkins and had just started on the tablecloths when Miss Hampton came in and paused. “Oh, good morning. I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement yesterday.” That much was true.

  “And how was your first day with Dr. Wayment?” Miss Hampton asked as she picked up the tea kettle.

  “I hardly know where to begin,” Jeanette answered. She put the iron she’d been using back on the stove to reheat and picked up another that was hot. “I learned a great deal.”

  “I’m very glad for you. And thank you for the ironing. As usual, you’re doing immaculate work.”

  Miss Hampton moved on to her chores, leaving Jeanette to the peaceful back-and-forth motion of ironing. When she was done, she’d walk to Dr. Wayment’s office and see what tasks he might have for her. Hopefully, today they would all be pleasant ones.

  ***

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Peterson.” Phillip looked up from his paperwork as she came into his office. “I trust all is well with you and at the hotel.”

  “Yes, sir. I just needed to finish up the ironing. I hope I’m not late.”

  Phillip glanced at the time. “No, not at all. In fact, I’d say you’re right on time. Tell me, Miss Peterson, do you enjoy reading?”

  “I do, very much.”

  “And what sorts of things do you like to read? Mrs. Hadley is rather fond of thrilling stories and dramatic adventures.”

  Miss Peterson smiled. “I’ve read a few of those myself, but I also enjoy history and studies of different places and cultures.”

  “Then I won’t overwhelm you if I ask you to read this.” He plunked a large volume down on his desk. “This is one of my texts from medical school. It gives a comprehensive look at the human body as understood at the time it was published. After you’ve read it, I’ll show you the articles I’ve collected since then containing the latest research and discoveries.” He waved his hand at his bookcases.

  “And we shall find all these articles . . . how, exactly?” An amused look passed across her face. “Your filing system has me baffled.”

  “There isn’t a system, exactly,” he said. “I rely on memory. If you were to ask me for the latest in suturing techniques, for instance, I would recall placing it on that shelf over there, and that is where I would find it.”

  “Your memory must be truly amazing. But enough of that. I’m eager to read this book.” She scooted a chair close to his desk and sat down, then pulled the book toward her and flipped open the cover. She settled in so quietly, she was almost like a statue except for the occasional turning of a page. Phillip resumed his paperwork on the other side of the desk, and they sat that way in companionable silence until Mrs. Hadley announced that their noon meal was ready.

  As they ate, Miss Peterson peppered him with questions about the things she’d just read. It was a wonder she managed to get any food down her at all, the way she kept talking. He found it amusing, though, seeing her excitement about bones and ligaments and other things he’d long ago begun to take for granted. When a person has never studied the workings of the human body and then is suddenly made aware of how intricate it is, how detailed and miraculous it is, it could awaken the fascination he was now seeing on Miss Peterson’s face.

  They had just settled back down to their bookwork when a knock sounded at the front door. Phillip heard Mrs. Hadley answer it, and a moment later, Harry Brown entered the room.

  “Harry, it’s good to see you. What brings you by? I hope Daisy is well.” He stood and extended his hand.

  Harry shook it. “Daisy’s fine, but I was over working at the hotel today, and Mr. Brody asked me to come for you. Seems one of the passengers from the first train of the day is sick. Miss Hampton put him up in a room.”

  “Do you know any of the symptoms?”

  “I don’t. I was just sent.”

  “We’ll be right over.” It was helpful to know beforehand what the illness might be, but that wasn’t always possible.

  “Let me hitch up your buggy for you, Doc,” Harry offered. “That might save a minute or two.”

  “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.” What Phillip really wanted was a stable boy, but that was an impractical wish. There wasn’t enough work to keep a lad busy, and he never knew from one day to the next exactly when he’d need his buggy. Now, if he could somehow teach the horse to hitch up by itself, that really would be something.

  Phillip slid his paperwork into the drawer of his desk and grabbed his suitcoat from where it hung on the back of his chair. Miss Peterson closed her book, marking the place with a scrap of paper, and they headed outside.

  A moment later, Harry brought the buggy around, then scrambled into the back. Phillip and Miss Peterson took their places up front, and with a flick of the reins, they headed off to the hotel.

  “Passengers on trains sometimes experience motion sickness,” Phillip explained as they rode. “That’s best cured by staying off the train for a while, of course. Other times, they develop a cough from the dust of the train wheels. It could be anything, really.”

  Elizabeth was standing on the porch of the hotel with baby Rose when they arrived, looking anxious. “Hello, Dr. Wayment. Thank you for coming. And you too, Nurse Peterson.” She gave her friend a conspiratorial smile. “The patient is in room two.”

  “I’ll show him the way.” Miss Peterson dashed through the door and up the stairs. Phillip had to trot to keep up with her. “This is room two,” she said, knocking once on the door and then entering.

  A man sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His face was ashen, and his hair was damp with sweat. “Hello,” Phillip said, approaching the bed. “I’m
Dr. Wayment, and this is my nurse, Miss Peterson.”

  “Bill Cobb,” the man replied. Then he broke into a fit of coughing, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth. He pulled it away and wiped up some sputum that had dribbled down the side of his mouth.

  No.

  Phillip turned to Miss Peterson. “Go downstairs immediately and tell Mrs. Brody to get the baby out of the hotel this instant. She can go stay with Mrs. Dempsey, perhaps, but do not let her stay here another moment. Tell Mr. Brody I need to speak with him, but have him wait in the hallway outside. Under no circumstances is he to enter this room. When you are done with those errands, Miss Peterson, stay in the hall as well.”

  She picked up her skirts and ran, obviously understanding the urgency in his voice. Then he turned back to Bill.

  “Are you traveling alone?”

  “Yes. Just me. On my way out to the railroad.” He coughed again. “I started feeling poorly before I left home, but I thought it was just an overnight thing. You know—you stay out too late saying good-bye to your friends, drinking a bit, and you feel under the weather the next day. That sort of thing.”

  “Where are you from, Bill?” Phillip pulled his stethoscope from his bag as he spoke.

  “Chicago. Lived there for a while before deciding to find a better life out this way. I figure, a little hard work can help a man out in this world.” He coughed again, and Phillip was able to hear the effect of the coughing on the lungs.

  A single knock sounded at the door. “Excuse me for a moment, Bill. I’ll be right back.” Phillip stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him. Adam Brody and Miss Peterson were waiting for him, anxious looks on their faces.

  “Did Mr. Cobb eat in the dining room?” he asked.

  “He did,” Adam replied.

  “Were others seated at his table, or was he alone?”

  “We had several for the first meal today, so he shared his table with a few others. What’s the matter, Doctor?”

  “He has tuberculosis, which is a highly contagious disease. This room is now under quarantine. No one is to go in or come out. Are the other passengers still here? Did they check in?”

  “I believe they all got back on the train after they finished eating.”

  Phillip pressed a fist to the center of his forehead. “This is what I have against public transportation,” he muttered. Then he addressed Adam again, glancing at Miss Peterson to include her in the conversation. “If he shared his illness with those at his table, and they carry that illness with them to wherever they’re traveling, the effects will ripple outward like a stone thrown into a pool. People should only be allowed to become sick at home in their own beds, where we can contain the spread.” He forced a smile, trying to lighten the moment with a touch of humor. “As it stands, I need to know where he sat, what became of the dishes he used, if he coughed into his napkin—everything.”

  “But how will you learn all that?” Miss Peterson asked.

  “You can ask the waitress who served him,” Phillip said. “Do you recall who it was?”

  “Abigail, Jeanette’s sister, was assigned that table,” Adam replied.

  Miss Peterson nodded. “I’ll go talk to her and see what she remembers.”

  “Excellent, Miss Peterson. Please be as quick as you can.” She was gone before Phillip had even finished his sentence.

  He turned back to Adam. “Do you know much about tuberculosis?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid.”

  “I shall spare you all the details, but you must understand the seriousness of this situation. The contagion rate is high, and we must protect you, your staff, and your other guests. I’d like you to talk to everyone who works for you and tell them to stay away from this room. If I need something, I’ll put my head out the door and call. Meals should be left on a tray in the hall. We must keep this contained.”

  Adam nodded. “I’ll go speak to them now.”

  He left, and passed the two Miss Petersons as they came up the stairs. “I understand you needed to speak with me?” the older Miss Peterson—Abigail—said as she neared him.

  “Yes. Tell me everything you can about Mr. Cobb.”

  “He sat with three other passengers, all men. He coughed some during the meal, but I never saw him cough into a napkin—he used a handkerchief.”

  “But he used a fork and a glass, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “And where are those dishes now?”

  “They’ve been washed and put away.”

  Phillip exhaled. What a nightmare. “Miss Peterson, I’m sorry to add to your workload, but I must give you a task. Every eating utensil and every glass and dish that was washed today must be dipped in boiling water. Your laundry is already boiled—I know that firsthand.” He smiled again. Anything he could do to take the edge off the situation, he would do it. “But those dishes are essential. Anything that may have touched Mr. Cobb’s dishes or was washed in the same water may be contaminated. Please, go start right away.”

  She nodded and headed down the stairs, her skirts swishing.

  Jeanette Peterson stood against the wall, looking at him expectantly. “And what would you like me to do, sir?”

  “You may go help your sister. This room is under quarantine—I can’t let you in there.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Pardon me?”

  “You understand the meaning of the word ‘quarantine,’ I trust? You are not to enter. The patient is contagious. I’m the only one who can enter or exit.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Dr. Wayment, are you playing games with me? Have you decided for some reason that I’m not qualified to be a nurse, so you’re humoring me, telling me I can come on cases with you when in reality, you mean to send me on my way?”

  He was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “Nurses treat contagious patients all the time. It’s part of their occupation. This would be a necessary part of my training. I have a chance before me to learn how to treat this disease, and you’re going to take that away from me? Either let me learn, or let me go and I won’t waste any more of your time.” She looked up at him, fury etched on her face. “Do not treat me like some porcelain doll you must sit on a shelf to protect.”

  “You look like a porcelain doll,” he retorted.

  “I know I’m small, and I know I’m young. But no one made it your responsibility to take care of me. I’m responsible for myself, and I want to help care for this patient. What is your decision, Doctor? Will you let me in that room, or must I get my training elsewhere? And may I add, I’m rather tired of having this same conversation with you. I shouldn’t have to keep defending my value to you over and over again.”

  My goodness. Could she ever lecture. Phillip studied her eyes—she was serious, and furiously so. “You understand the risk you’re taking. The germs, the bacteria that transmit the disease are carried in the sputum. Traces of that sputum could be anywhere—a fleck of spittle that landed on his sleeve, for instance, which is then brushed up against a blanket.”

  “Then I won’t let him spit on me, and all will be well.” She flashed an impish grin. “Just tell me what to do, Dr. Wayment, and I will do it. But give me this chance.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Very well. This goes against every fiber of my being, but all right. You may help me with this patient. But you must do every single thing I say exactly how I say it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. And thank you.”

  She took a step as if to enter the room, but Phillip held up his hand. “Wait a moment. There are a few things I need you to do first. Please send Harry to Mrs. Hadley with a message—she should refer any patients to the other doctors in town, and she should pack up a few changes of clothes for me and all my extra tuberculosis supplies. She’s done this before—she’ll know what to get. Then Harry should go tell the other doctors that we have a case of tuberculosis in town and ask them to take necessary precautions. He should also alert the marshal.”
/>   “The marshal?”

  “Yes. This is a public health concern, and he should know.”

  She nodded once and headed for the stairs. Phillip watched her go, then turned and entered the room. This was liable to be a long, long vigil.

  Chapter Eight

  The next few days became a blur in Jeanette’s mind. Dr. Wayment saw to the needs of their patient hour after hour, explaining to Jeanette each step of the way what he was doing and why. He took occasional naps in the chair in the corner of the room, as Jeanette did in her own spot, but he always woke up immediately at any sign of distress. Bill slipped in and out of a fever, and for a time, it seemed as though his coughing would never subside. But at last, it did become more mild, and the sputum less.

  Late one night after Bill was asleep, Jeanette looked over to see that Dr. Wayment was reading something by the light of the lamp in the corner. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “It’s a study of the lungs and respiratory system. It’s a complicated mechanism because the lungs are dark and moist, and bacteria thrives under those conditions. I’m at a loss to understand how we’ll ever arrive at a treatment when we can’t dry out the lungs or expose them to sunlight.” He shook his head. “Everything I know seems so insufficient, and the research is taking such a long time. But I’m sorry—I’ve already told you of my impatience. I shouldn’t bore you.”

  “No, you’re not.” She picked up her chair and scooted it closer to his so they could keep talking without disturbing their patient. “I like hearing you talk this way. It makes me wonder what the future really could hold for medicine.”

  “Sometimes when I’m feeling fantastical, I’ll imagine all kinds of treatments and instruments that might someday be invented,” he said. “For now, we must use what we have and follow our instincts, as fallible as they may be.”